Getting up these last few days have required a little extra effort from the last effects of bar-lag seeping out of my body. After making the usual morning drive through the leaf covered neighborhood and trying to detach my Velcro handed daughter off to my parents; I hopped on the interstate towards the place that pays Wells Fargo once a month for the right to come back to a home each evening.
Along the final stretch a stop light suddenly turned Big Bird yellow and much like the last two days in Key West… I sped on thru.
There’s times when social responsibility come into play like your child’s birthday party and others when insulting someone’s mother to push them to scratch on the 8-ball during a match to win $20 while the waitress brings another round of Jag bombs is perfectly normal.
Friday afternoon was spent at the abode of Ernest Hemmingway with several of our group following the author’s look-a-like tour guide around the home for about an hour. Despite the just ran a marathon with canoe on your back type sweat dripping from my shirt, it was fun to learn all about the “local” author who penned (as I learned) nearly half of novels in the smallish bunk house that was adjacent to the main house in his short time taking residence in Key West.
The group had funneled back to Al’s place where the Entourage-like crew of Speaker, DP, DP’s brother, and the artist formerly known as Bobby Bracelet made their appearance after tearing up South Beach the evening prior with their mass consumption of wine coolers and Zima. And the special-super-secret guest that was to be revealed came through the door but it wasn’t until the shin-high blogger took a right hook to my knee cap that I noticed it was Iggy!
Key West > Playboy Mansion especially if you can impress your wife that you don’t need to stare at bouncing, overpriced silicone objects all night (and wish him a happy 4th blogger birthday!). After a short round of poker which was live blogged by StB and showed my inability to let go of my precious pocket 9s cracking the beautiful Change100s Aces, we walked to Turtle Kraals for the weekly turtle races and some badly needed eats.
After a couple of rounds of “The Lager” (which is the best economical beer on the planet and I hate the fact they don’t carry it in Minnesota) it was time to watch the five reptiles battle it out for the chance to not become turtle chowder at the restaurant as you enter the Key West area. Using the time-honored tradition of fading ANYTHING DP and Bobby bet on, I chose #2 which of course decided to chase its non-existent tail the whole time as DPs turtle ran like he left his credit card at a strip club.
After the race, if your turtle won you received a key out of about 100 of them to open a chest with a cash prize inside ($225 going up $25 each race). While no one opened the chest, the Monty Hall-esqe announcer definitely added to the fun.
“Did you know the bar me and StB hit up this morning has the boxing game?”
The reaction from the guys was parallel to announcing Jessica Alba was in stall #2 giving out free blow jobs.
The Big ‘Uns Bar and Grill muscle shirt was stretched to the max across the waitress’s chest as if she wore her corporate pride like a star employee of a Fortune 500 company might wear a carefully crafted Armani business suit into the office. They had all our entire group required for a prop betting heavenly night.
Boxing machine – check
Pool tables – check
Big Buck Hunter – check
Waitresses with attitudes – check
Galaga machine nearby to kick Speaker’s ass – check
Note to self: stick with right handed prop bets on the boxing machine in the future and when your wrist starts to tingle its time to quit
After a flurry of 5s, 10s, and 20s exchanging hands at the various games, we ended up at a cowboy bar where the main attraction wasn’t the Bud Light selling blonde greeting ya’ll in the entrance, but rather the evil looking mechanical bull surrounded by a kids moon walk sponsored of course by the King of Beers as well.
“Take off my glasses? I’m drunk enough as it is and you want me to be blind too????”
Five brave souls attempted the cow-printed saddle to ride for nine seconds just like on TV without the dangers of getting impaled by a pissed off bull that weighs more then the 757 I rode back home. Only one person couldn’t handle the first round of riding (not named to protect the drunk errr… innocent), as the second round we were warned “we’re going to kick it up a notch”. Yeah, like going from leisurely stroll down a dusty trail on a faithful horse, to crack-addicted bull who hasn’t had a fix in two weeks.
The bar was set high at five seconds as I hopped back on the saddle with a sore wrist that was obtained by manly boxing punches at the other bar not a need to relieve myself thank you very much. How I managed to not spray the Stetsons and our group with hot wings puke after six seconds is beyond me as I was tossed from the steed with the same violence of a hip check from behind.
Something is wrong with my groin, as I felt as if I just took in a lap dance from a Krispy Kreme calendar model. Walking back down Duval Street, I probably moved about like I just took a backdoor delivery without the Astroglide.
All in the name of a good time that would continue tomorrow.
Thanks for dropping by, now feel free to search the above linked sites for better reports.